of features belonged to this face?"

"The fairest, I think, I have ever known," said Mr. Carleton.
"You asked me, Miss Evelyn, what was my notion of beauty; this
face was a good illustration of it. Not perfection of outline,
though it had that, too, in very uncommon degree; but the
loveliness of mind and character to which these features were
only an index; the thoughts were invariably telegraphed
through eye and mouth more faithfully than words could give
them."

"What kind of eyes?" said Florence.

His own grew dark as he answered —

"Clear and pure as one might imagine an angel's — through
which I am sure my good angel many a time looked at me."

Good angels were at a premium among the eyes that were
exchanging glances just then.

"And Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, "is it fair to ask —
this paragon — is she living, still?"

"I hope so," he answered, with his old light smile, dismissing
the subject.

"You spoke so much in the past tense," said Mrs. Evelyn,
apologetically.